


Snowballs and Hot Chocolate

by icouldnotsee (herprettysleeper)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cute Dean, F/M, Family, Fluff, I LOVE EVERYONE SO MUCH, Shy Dean Winchester, a bit of profanity, but this is so G-rated it might as well be a pixar movie, this is legit the fluffiest thing I have ever written guys, you're all a little family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/icouldnotsee
Summary: In which it’s Christmas time and Dean has a crush.





	

“Dean!” You laugh. “What the hell, dude?”

You dive behind the snow fort, snowflakes falling on your lashes and your face.

“I do not understand the point of throwing cold balls of powdered ice at one another, and—”

“Cas, if we lose this fight I will figure out a way to blast your ass across the planet.”

“I would just come back. Planes are easily accessible, after all—”

You shoot him a glare; he nods and goes back to throwing snowballs at Dean and Sam as you pile up snow to patch up the fort—

Only to get tackled from the side.

“Ambush!” You yell. “This is cheating, you son of a bitch!”

“No, I’m being resourceful.” Dean smiles while you blush, then gives you a thumbs-up before running back to his brother.

And knocking over your fort.

“Where is your  _honor?!_ ” You call out.

“Left in the drawer with my healthy eating habits,” he calls out.

“Cas,” you begin, “Rebuild the fort. These fuckers are going down.”

“I still don't—”

“ _Please,_ ” you beg, and he shrugs, leans down and touches the snow.

A six foot for stands in front of the both of you.

You blink. “Damn. Thanks, Cas.”

“It was no issue.”

“Now you’re cheating!” Sam says.

“You started it!”

“What are you,” Dean shouts, “five?”

“Says the man having a snowball fight.”

“Let’s keep our heads on,” a new voice says. Mary.

“Sorry, Mom,” Dean and Sam say as Cas says, “I apologize, Mary,” and you say, “Sorry, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Y/N, you know you don’t have to call me that, right? Mrs. Winchester was my mother.” You smile slightly, and she continues. “Anyway,” she holds up a tray. “I made hot chocolate. If you want any.”

“Thanks, Mrs.—Mary,” you correct yourself, and she smiles at you before handing out the mugs.

You’re still not going to get used to that—the Winchester mother being alive.

Though you should thank her for them—the men who’ve saved your lives constantly, who make it all worth it. You should thank her for him.

Dean slings an arm over your shoulder, and you argue playfully with him, your heart racing and pulse speeding, and you don’t say anything of the sort.

+++

Dean watches Y/N (somewhat) discreetly by the table.

“It’s Christmas Adam,” she calls out.

“What in the world is Christmas Adam?” Sam asks.

“December 23rd. Because tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, making this Christmas Adam. The unsatisfactory time before the actual holiday season.” She flashes Dean a smile.

Dean rolls his eyes, though he cracks a slight smile. It’s been crazy the whole week, since they were snowed in at the bunker. No hunting this week—freedom.

For once.

Y/N decides it’s a good idea to start a karaoke chain with Christmas songs, and Mary is the first to join her, then Dean himself. It takes some force to pull Sam into the group, but they manage.

After a very badly sung round of Let It Snow, they settle in and watch rom-coms that make him and Y/N gag, but it’s somewhat worth it.

She falls asleep against his shoulder, having nodded off to some excruciatingly cheesy declarations of love.

He nudges her slightly, but she just flops back down onto his shoulder, and he sighs. “Come on, sunshine.” Nothing.

He stands and carefully picks her up, bridal style, carrying her to the room in the bunker, laying her down on her bed. He pulls the comfortor around her, and is about to leave when he hesitates.

He kisses her cheek gently and brushes her hair out of her face before leaving as fast as possible—though that plan is thwarted when he bumps into his mother in the doorway.

“Sorry, Mom,” he says quickly, pushing past his mother and planning to barrel right for his room, but he doesn’t, because Mary catches his arm.

“Dean,” she says, and he turns to face her. “You know, whenever you’re ready, you could man up and tell her you love her. It’s Christmas…love is in the air…”

“Mom, please stop.”

“It’s obvious how you feel. Now, I’d recommend you hurry up before she finds someone else who  _will_  step up.”

“Nice talk, Mom,” he says, and escapes as fast as he possibly can, though a bit of panic starts to brew in his head, along with the beginning of a plan.

+++

“Has anyone seen Dean?” you ask around, but he’s been missing all day—it’s Christmas Eve.

You’re aware that he’s not necessarily the type to be caged to one spot, but he hasn’t called or texted, and worry is slowly seeping itself into your system.

“Don’t worry about him,” Sam says. “He just needs space.”

But when the sun has set and he’s still missing, your worry escalates.

It isn’t like him to leave without so much as a text—at least that.

“Hey, Cas, do you know where Dean went?”

The angel looks uncomfortable. “Um…no.”

“Um no?”

“Yes. I am not aware of the younger Winchester’s whereabouts.”

“Listen, Cas—either you tell me, or—”

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“I believe Sam is calling me. Goodbye.”

“Wait!” But Cas is already gone.

You head to the kitchen. “Does Cas seem at all normal to you?” you ask Mary.

“Does he ever?” Mary looks outside—the sun is gone, and it’s dark out.

“Hey—do you think you could grab me something?”

“Yeah, sure. What?”

“Some milk. I want it from a specific store, though. I have a discount.”

“Uh…okay? Can I have an address?”

“I have coordinates.”

Coordinates. To a store. That’s normal. “Okay, then.”

Mary hands you a slip or paper. You look at it, then back at her with an awkward smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

+++

It’s a prank.

The coordinates are in the middle of the woods, and it’s dark. This cannot be safe, either. Someone’s going to jump out at you, or—

The clearing is suddenly illuminated.

Long strings of Christmas lights are strung around the clearing. You take a step back, stumbling, and a pair of strong arms catch you.

You swing around to beat the thing to death, but Dean throws his hands up. “Not a monster!”

You put your hands back to your side reluctantly. “What is this?”

“Uh…” He scratches his head. “I—here.” He holds out a box that fits in your palm. You open it, revealing a necklace. Your breath leaves you slowly.

“Thank you.” The necklace is gorgeous—Dean helps you put it on, his fingers gently brushing hair away from your neck as he fastens it. You finally ask the question you’ve been meaning to: “Why all this?”

“I, uh, we’ve known each other for a long time—and I kinda like you, and well…” He looks up at you through his eyelashes, green eyes bright, then looks away. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

You don’t think as you reach up to touch his cheek, make him look at you. You smile slightly. “Is this your attempt at asking me out?”

He nods.

“Should’ve just said so.”

His smile begins to match yours, if only slightly. He closes the distance between the two of you, kissing you gently.

“I never took you for a romantic, Winchester.”

“Never took you for a sap, Y/L/N, yet here we are.”

You don’t think of anything to say to that, so you just press closer to him, feeling warm.

+++

It’s Christmas morning, and you’re sitting at the tree with the brothers, snuggling against Dean’s side.

“You know, most people actually like Christmas Eve a lot more than Christmas itself.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at you. “And you say so because?”

“Christmas is about the anticipation. The countdown. The night of Christmas Eve and the morning of Christmas are probably the only fun parts of the day, anyway. I mean, no one fantasizes about Christmas afternoon, do they?”

“Stop killing the mood,” Sam says.

“Christmas is also pretty secular. Jesus was born in the fall.”

“And your point is?” Dean cuts in.

You shrug. “I didn’t really have one. I never really have one,“ you admit.

“Then maybe…not speak?” He’s smiling against your neck; you’re still happy as you bat him away.

“Shut up, Winchester.”


End file.
